


cleanup in aisle 6

by qingting



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, HQ Brofest, HQ Brofest Rookie Tier, Platonic Hand-Holding, appearances by various members of seijoh and shiratorizawa, brot5, i am physically incapable of writing scenes of consistent length, second years as third years, seijoh + stz second years, theyre all nerds, yahaba and shirabu have studyblrs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 05:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10802970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qingting/pseuds/qingting
Summary: The bookstore is quite an anticlimactic place to run into your worst rivals. No battle hall, no dais, no ancient, decrepit temple, just a small bookshop with bright lighting.“Oh shit.”





	cleanup in aisle 6

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the HQ!! Brofest challenge, which is a super cool concept (we always need more platonic fics) and you should definitely go check out the other works in the collection!

Out all the places to bump into someone in Sendai, Watari never imagined it’d be the little bookshop near their school. 

 

But of course, it is, and Watari grinds to a halt when he spots the familiar white and maroon school uniforms that haunt his dreams every so often. He’s fairly sure his beautiful, warm complexion has drained away to a pale white by now. “What’s the hold up?” Yahaba asks. 

 

Watari blocks the entrance, hanging onto the doorframe for dear life. Slowly, he pries a hand away and points a finger toward one of the bookshelves. “Them,” he hisses. 

 

The bookstore is quite an anticlimactic place to run into your worst rivals. No battle hall, no dais, no ancient, decrepit temple, just a small bookshop with bright lighting. Watari reminds himself they’re not here to pick a fight anyways, but something about the two standing in aisle 7 makes his blood boil. 

 

“What the fuck, Watari-”

 

“Yeah, Watari, what’s up-”

 

“Shhhhhhhhh.” Watari cuts both Yahaba and Kyoutani off. “Do you not see them?”

 

Yahaba nudges impatiently at Watari’s back. “See who?”

 

Kyoutani inhales sharply and gestures toward the people whose attention Watari is so desperately trying not to attract. “Them.”

 

“Oh shit.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

It’s not everyday one sees one’s greatest rivals at a small bookstore in the historical fiction section, after all. “What the fuck are they doing here?” Yahaba spits.

 

“Someone punch them.”

 

Watari pushes them farther out the doorway. “Kyoutani, no.”

 

“Kyoutani, yes.”

 

“I just wanna get my fucking book,” Kyoutani says. “I’m not about to let some boarding school assholes stop me.”

 

“Fight them, Kyoutani.”

 

“Shut up, Yahaba,” Watari says. “They’re going to see us!”

 

Three boys pushing each other and whispering loudly in the doorway of a bookshop with currently only five other patrons happens to be one of the more noticeable sights this world has to offer, unfortunately. The old lady wandering around helping people comes over, a disapproving scowl painted on her face. “Boys, are you going to come in or stay out? There’s a young lady behind you who’s been trying to get in for the past five minutes.”

 

Watari freezes. “Kyoutani, you didn’t tell me there was someone trying to get in!”

 

“I didn’t think you were planning on moving for the next hour,” Kyoutani drawls. 

 

Sheepishly, they unblock the doorway. Yahaba shoots an apologetic smile at the old lady and the girl glaring daggers at them. “Sorry about that.”

 

“Sorry,” Watari and Kyoutani say in unison. Kyoutani stares darkly at the floor, and Watari tries to avoid looking at aisle 7. Yahaba leads them to aisle 6, the fantasy section. While Kyoutani combs the stacks seriously, looking for the latest book in whatever series he’s been reading lately, Yahaba picks up books at random, reading their summaries with indifference and placing them back on the shelf. Watari tries not to look suspicious.

 

Coincidentally (or maybe not), aisle 7 is the same aisle a derisive snicker comes from minutes later. “They can’t play volleyball and they have no manners,” says a familiar voice. “What  _ is  _ Seijoh good for?”

 

Yahaba pokes his head through a gap in the books, eyes glinting murderously. “Say that to our fucking faces, you punk.”

 

Shirabu Kenjirou, grade-A asshole, stares coldly at him from between two stacks of books, carried precariously in his arms. “I didn’t think I needed to,” he continues, “it’s a pretty well-known fact.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t think you should be talking,” Yahaba says. “Considering who got their asses kicked by Karasuno at last year’s Spring High.”

 

“So did you.” Shirabu says. “And by us too, in fact.”

 

Yahaba grins. “Not this year.”

 

Shirabu scoffs. “Who do you think you’re kidding? Your star setter is gone and the setter you have now,” he jeers, “had one toss at Seijoh’s match against Karasuno last year, and even screwed that up.”

 

“Says the setter whose sole purpose is to toss for Ushiwaka-chan,” Yahaba sneers, and Watari wants to know when his friend became an Oikawa clone. Kyoutani drifts into the next aisle. 

 

“He’s a better ace than that disobedient dog you have there,” Shirabu says, jerking his head toward Kyoutani dismissively. Watari  _ oohs  _ internally, because  _ dang, that is definitely looking for a fight.  _

 

Actually, Watari’s been so busy trying not to be associated with Yahaba that he hadn’t noticed Yahaba had moved. Yahaba is no longer in aisle 6, in fact, he’s strolling into aisle 7, pushing up his sleeves and saying “talk shit get hit-”

 

“Slow down, firecracker,” Kyoutani says, snagging Yahaba by the collar and pulling him toward the cash register. “I found the book I wanted, let’s go. Watari, where are you?”

 

Yahaba struggles against Kyoutani’s grip. “Hold on, I haven’t found a book yet.”

 

“That’s what you get for trying to pick a fight.”

 

“You said ‘someone punch them’!”

 

“That was before I got my book,” Kyoutani says, tucking the book under his arm and sorting through bills with the hand that’s not currently clamped onto Yahaba’s shirt collar. They’re drawing looks from the few other customers in the shop, and Watari can only begin to imagine why. 

 

Yahaba straightens reluctantly as Kyoutani releases his grip and counts out his change. “You have to let me read yours after you’re done, then.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Kawanishi stands in line behind them with Shirabu in tow. Watari tries not to be cowed by how tall he is. 

 

“Watari, let’s go.” 

 

“Yeah.”

 

They make the walk back to Yahaba’s house in silence. Yahaba laments the loss of this week’s addition to his already overflowing bookcases once they arrive. “I hope they don’t show up next week,” he says, flinging himself across his bed. “Actually, I hope they disappear off the face of the earth.”

 

Kyoutani settles in Yahaba’s desk chair and flips the pages of his book contentedly, humming in agreement. 

 

Watari just tries to forget that their little run-in ever happened.    
  


* * *

 

 

“I’m getting this week’s issue of Shonen Jump if it’s the last thing I do,” Yahaba says, “and no asshole shorty with unevenly cut hair is going to stop me.”

 

Kyoutani snorts. “Nerd.”

 

“Excuse me, mister-I-read-classical-american-literature-for-fun,” Yahaba says, shoving his face into Kyoutani’s, “who are you calling a nerd?”

 

Watari pushes their faces apart. “Let’s just get the book and get out of here.” He shudders. “I don’t want another run-in.”

 

“I do,” Yahaba declares. “Kyoutani will fight them.”

 

“No.”

 

“Yes!”

 

“I’ll fight you if you won’t shut up,” Kyoutani says, opening the door. 

 

Yahaba takes a deep breath once he’s inside, letting it out with a slow exhale. “It smells so nice in here without the scent of  _ jerk,  _ don’t you think?”

 

His wicked smile makes Watari want to leave as soon as possible. “Just get the book and go.” He shoves Yahaba toward the manga section. 

 

Yahaba finds the book he was looking for almost immediately. “Why don’t you just subscribe?” Kyoutani asks, picking up a copy of some adult romance novel. Yahaba wrinkles his nose. 

 

“It’s fun coming to the bookstore to get it,” Yahaba says. “And really? ‘ _ Me Before You’?  _ Didn’t know you were into that stuff, Kyouken-chan.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Kyoutani snaps. He hugs the book protectively to his chest. “And you don’t understand. This isn’t just any romance novel.”

 

Yahaba pats Kyoutani on the head. “Okay then.” 

 

The door swings open again as Watari absently sorts through piles of books, looking for something new. Yahaba begins jabbering to Kyoutani about his manga, enthusiastically chattering on while Kyoutani ignores him, furrowing a brow as he discovers someone ripped the last few pages out of the book. 

 

“And did you know, in the last book we found out that Hanako’s mother was actually half-fire deity? So that means she and Ryouta can never be together, which is great because I ship her with Tsubaki-”

 

“Ryouta’s a huge wimp,” someone in another aisle says to someone else. “I’m so glad Hotaru kicked his ass-”

 

Yahaba absently starts to lead Kyoutani out of one aisle and into another, still talking. “The battle between Takashi and Shino was super epic, but I’m still kind of pissed that Shino won-”

 

“And I didn’t like Idate at first but I’m really starting to warm up to him now-” the other person continues.

 

“But my favorite character-”

 

“But who I like the most-”

 

“Is Sakura!” Yahaba and the other person chorus in unison. 

 

It’s quiet for a moment. It’s the only bit of peace Watari will get before the madness starts, because he thinks his soul died when he recognized that voice at the last moment. 

 

Luckily, the only other customers are in the backroom with the owner; otherwise, Watari thinks they’d all be looking at them right now. Yahaba turns his head slowly with undisguised shock toward his fellow manga enthusiast. “Ehhhh!?”

 

“What!?” Shirabu screeches back at him. 

 

Watari can’t even see them, but he can already feel the electricity of confrontation crackling in the air. 

 

Yahaba stomps angrily towards Shirabu. “You can’t like the same manga as me!”

 

“That’s so immature,” Shirabu says. “Anyone can like any manga,” he insists, but he’s clearly irritated. 

 

“No one knows this manga,” Yahaba says back. 

 

“I know this manga!”

 

“Well, obviously,” Yahaba snarks. “I’ve tried to get everyone on my team to read this manga, and the one person who reads it has to be a complete asshole.”

 

“Well, your team has no taste, just like how they have no skill.”

 

Kyoutani hits them both on the head with a book. “Shut up. You’re too loud.” It’s obvious whose side he’s on, though, judging by the way he edges in front of Yahaba just a bit and glares darkly at Shirabu. 

 

“It’s okay for you both to like the same manga,” Kawanishi says softly, like he’s talking to little children. Still, Watari can see his body tense. 

 

“Inferior setters shouldn’t be able to appreciate good manga!”

 

“Who do you think you are, you robot?”

 

“Loser!”

 

“Coward!” Their voices rise higher and higher, and Kyoutani’s scowl gets darker and darker. They all look like they’re about to tear each other apart. 

 

Watari’s had enough. 

 

“Stop it-” _ smack-  _ “you-”  _ smack-  _ “ _ children!” _

 

* * *

 

 

Shirabu says the question they’re all thinking. “Why are we here?”

 

‘Here’ is a little cafe near the bookshop. “Order something,” Watari says. “It’s on me.”

 

“No way,” Yahaba says, still staring daggers at Shirabu. He hasn’t stopped since they got there. “I don’t have money to pay you back.”

 

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

“But-”

 

“ _ Don’t worry about it,”  _ Watari repeats. “Order something.”

 

Kawanishi leans over to Kyoutani. “Your friend is kind of intimidating for his height, isn’t he?”

 

“I heard that.” 

 

Kyoutani glowers at Kawanishi and scoots a few inches away from him, the wooden chair grating on the floor. Kawanishi winces. 

 

A waitress comes to take their order, blissfully unaware of the animosity in the air. “And what would you like today?”

 

“I’ll get a chocolate crepe, please,” Watari says pleasantly. “Yahaba?”

 

Yahaba’s face is stuck in the menu, occasionally peeking up to glower ferociously. “Uh, can I get honey toast? With strawberries?”

 

“Kyoutani?”

 

“I’ll just share with Yahaba,” he says, absorbed in his book. 

 

“Oh, better add bananas to it then.”

 

Watari gestures to the Shiratorizawa guys. “You guys?”

 

“No thanks,” Shirabu says. 

 

Kawanishi sounds strained. “I’ll just, uh, get a milkshake.”

 

“Are you sure you don’t want anything, uh, Shirabu?”

 

“Yes, I’m fine,” he replies with a pinched frown. 

 

The waitress strolls off towards the kitchen, leaving them staring at each other in silence. “Uh, so, you guys like to read?” Watari asks, wincing at how awkward he sounds. 

 

“Yes,” they say, and nothing else. 

 

Watari fake-chuckles. “Oh, uh, that’s cool. Uh, we like to read too, haha.”

 

Yahaba scoffs. “Why are we even here? We’re not five, it’s not like we’re suddenly going to be friends after sharing dessert.”

 

“Yeah,” Shirabu says. “I mean, who’d wanna be friends with him?”

 

“This,” Watari cuts in before Yahaba can say anything, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is why.”

 

“I don’t get it,” Kyoutani says, playing with the pages of his book. 

 

“I really like that bookstore,” Watari says, “and if you guys can’t refrain from acting like children and be civil to each other-”

 

“Oh, look, it’s the food,” Kawanishi says. 

 

At least they’re not fighting when they’re eating, Watari thinks. Kyoutani eats the bananas off Yahaba’s honey toast while Yahaba busies himself with his school bag. Shirabu sits very stiffly. 

 

Yahaba takes his science notebook out of his bag with care, gently flattening the pages before uncapping a pen and starting to write in the margins. Shirabu gasps. 

 

“Your notes are so pretty,” he says in a rush and immediately clamps his hands over his mouth like he didn’t mean to say it. Yahaba’s expression twists. 

 

“Do you,” he says cautiously, “wanna see my bullet journal?”

 

Shirabu’s eyes twinkle. “Yes,” he breathes. 

 

Watari loses track of what they’re talking about after Shirabu takes out  _ his  _ bullet journal and they start swapping pens and admiring each other’s handwriting. He has to admit their notes are extremely aesthetically pleasing, but he’ll never have the patience for that kind of meticulous journaling. Kyoutani and Kawanishi look equally bewildered, so Watari steals a strawberry off Yahaba’s plate and asks Kyoutani about his book. 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyoutani takes to water about as well as a cat does. “Why are we here,” he grumbles, letting the sand sift through his toes. 

 

Yahaba runs past him with an armload of stuff, his feet leaving prints in the sand. The giant umbrella he carries flaps along in the breeze. “It’s team bonding, vice captain!” 

 

“Wha-”

 

“Kyoutani!” Watari calls, sprinting towards Yahaba with a bag of… charcoal? And a bag from the local butcher’s that indicates the contents are meat, too. “Help Kindaichi and Kunimi with the grill!”

 

“What the fuck-” Kyoutani turns around sharply to see that yes, indeed, Kunimi and Kindaichi are lugging a fairly large grill from the parking lot onto the beach. He helps them bring it to where Yahaba has set up the umbrella. 

 

“Aren't there already grills here?” Kyoutani asks, sweeping his hand out toward the multitude of barbecue grills littered across the sand. “Why did we bring our own?”

 

Yahaba grins at him and waves his finger in Kyoutani’s face. “No, no, no, Kyoutani,” he says, evading Kyoutani’s attempts to swat his hand away. “This isn't any grill.”

 

Yahaba looks triumphant as he grabs a tent stake and digs it firmly into the ground, like one of those mountain climbers or that guy on the moon. Neil Armstrong. Yeah, him. “This is the brand-new, high-tech grill bought with the Seijoh basketball club’s precious funds! And they generously loaned it to us!” 

 

Kyoutani squints at the grill, trying to block out the harsh light bouncing off of it. It looks like a pretty normal grill, excepting the fact that it is obviously a lot newer and cleaner than the ones on the sidewalk, but that doesn’t matter when you have foil. “Why are you so proud? We didn’t even buy it with our own money.”

 

Yahaba’s smile turns devious in an instant and Kyoutani decides he doesn’t want to know. “Look, if you’re going around extorting the other clubs for their expensive gadgets, that’s your business. But don’t tell the first or second years,” Kyoutani says. 

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yahaba trills, trying and failing miserably to look innocent. “Extort the other clubs? I would never stoop so low.”

 

Kyoutani says, “Oh, shut up” at the same time as Watari comes over and drops his load on a folding table. Kyoutani blinks.  _ When did that get there? _

 

Watari clicks his tongue. “Don’t influence our kouhai, Captain; they’re young and impressionable. Speaking of which, where are our underclassmen?” The three of them stop to look for the pesky first and second years, who have mysteriously disappeared. 

 

Yahaba flinches. “What the hell are they doing-”

 

“What? Where?” Watari scans the beach for their kouhai, and Kyoutani follows his gaze. Water? Nope? Pavement? Nope? Stealing meat from Shiratorizawa?

 

“Hey!”

 

Shiratorizawa’s new ace waves his tongs in the air, swatting at Kunimi’s quick hands. Watari starts whispering a prayer as Kunimi makes off with a piece of yakiniku pinched between his chopsticks, serving as a distraction for Kindaichi to swoop in and nab a couple grilled vegetables. 

 

Shirabu may be short compared to them, but his voice is nothing to scoff at. “Yahaba, you bastard!” rings across the beach, disturbing the other people lounging on the sand. “Get your kouhai away from our meat!”

 

Watari cringes visibly. Kyoutani only winces when he sees the fire in Yahaba’s eyes as he stalks over to where Kindaichi, Kunimi, and the first years are prancing around with their newly acquired bounty (or in Kunimi’s case, standing lethargically with a rare smile of satisfaction), snags them by the collars, and drags them over to where Shiratorizawa’s volleyball club is, coincidentally, having their own beach barbecue-slash-team bonding excursion. “Apologize,” he can hear Yahaba growl from fifty meters away, and a chill runs down his spine. Kyoutani meets eyes with Watari, and they shudder in unison. 

 

“We should go help,” Kyoutani says. 

 

“Yeah,” Watari agrees.

 

Neither move an inch. 

 

Now Yahaba’s angrily marching over, somewhat ashamed kouhai still in hand. “Grab the stuff,” he says. “I promised Shirabu we’d share our food with them because these idiots,” he sends a dark look to the underclassmen, “decided it would be a good idea to steal food from Shiratorizawa. So now we have to share food with the school we hate most. Great.” He glares at Kindaichi again, scowling as he shrinks away slightly. 

 

Watari tilts his head. “Weren’t you kind of getting along last time, though? Like with your fancy notes and stuff?”

 

“Doesn’t mean Shiratorizawa isn’t a shitty school!” Yahaba despairs. “I don’t like sharing my meat with my family, let alone assholes who keep beating us at every single fucking tournament!”

 

Watari slaps a hand over Yahaba’s mouth. “The children!” he hisses.

 

“We can hear you,” Kunimi drones. 

 

Yahaba sighs and schools his pleasant face back on. Cheerily, he grabs some of their stuff and begins carrying it over with as much bounce in his step as he can muster. He looks incredibly awkward. Kyoutani sighs. Team bonding isn’t really his thing, but tense inter-team gatherings are even less so. “Let’s go,” he says, and grabs the grill, motioning for Kindaichi to help him carry it over. 

 

Watari stifles a laugh behind his hand. “You’re really becoming more like Iwaizumi-senpai, huh, Kyoutani?”

 

Kyoutani frowns. “Well, if Yahaba’s gonna release his born-of-hell side or whatever, then I actually have to be the responsible one for once.”

 

Watari pats his back. “Nice to have a stable vice captain.” He shivers. “I think Yahaba becomes more like Oikawa everyday.”

 

“As if,” Kyoutani scoffs. “Oikawa’s just annoying, and occasionally really fucking scary. Yahaba’s always been this angry but now is not the time to show it- Oi! You!” he shouts at a first year. “Put that down!”

 

The first year, significantly cowed, gently places the crab back on the sand. 

 

They shuffle over to where Yahaba is not-so-subtly trying to intimidate Shirabu with his height. Shirabu, for his part, looks the most unruffled Kyoutani’s ever seen him. Probably because he has a giant megaphone to order his teammates around with. 

 

“Hey! Goshiki!” he shouts, settling into a folding chair set up by someone else. “Go get the volleyballs from the bus!”

 

Goshiki looks at him irately. “We don’t have the volleyballs because you said that we were here to relax and if we played volleyball we would get ourselves too worked up!”

 

“Yeah, but that’s because I didn’t know they’d be here,” Shirabu says, jerking his head toward Yahaba. “We won’t have to get worked up because it’s just Seijoh, you know.”

 

“We can hear you,” Watari calls. 

 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point.”

 

“Shut up, we’re already sharing our food with you, you douche,” Yahaba says, now clearly looming over him. 

 

“Well, if your kouhai weren’t so incompetent you wouldn’t have to,” Shirabu spits, throwing his hands up. “Although, I guess it can’t be helped, judging by who their captain is-”

 

Kyoutani drops the grill. “Hey,” he says. “Can you stop fucking shit-talking our captain?”

 

Shirabu looks entirely unfazed and refuses to back off, much to Kyoutani’s chagrin. “I only shit-talk captains that deserve it.”

 

“Oh my god we literally gave you our food already-”

 

“Shut up or I'll make you-”

 

_ Splat. _

 

Kyoutani and Yahaba stop yelling to watch a freshly grilled piece of meat slide off of a stunned Shirabu’s face. 

 

“It’s time to stop,” Kawanishi says, holding a spatula like it’s a slingshot or something. Goshiki quickly snaps a picture of Shirabu, his mouth gaping wide open and looking betrayed beyond words. The meat lands with a  _ plop!  _ on the ground. 

 

It takes a few moments for Shirabu to launch into action. 

 

“Delete that, you asshole!” he yells, making grabby hands for Goshiki’s phone and practically vaulting out of his seat to chase his hysterical ace down the beach. Kawanishi looks strangely satisfied. Kyoutani’s done.

 

“Bury me, Watari. I’m fucking dead.”

 

Yahaba throws sand onto Kyoutani’s face. “Oh no, what will we do without our precious ace and vice captain? We’ll have no one to intimidate shortstack over there into shutting up.”

 

“Fuck you,” Shirabu wheezes, chasing Goshiki into the water. 

 

In the time it takes for Shirabu to snag Goshiki’s phone and find out that the picture has already been sent to everyone on the Shiratorizawa volleyball club group chat, the meat has been cooked to a nice medium-well, the vegetables have just started to brown, Kunimi has built an elaborate sand castle complete with spiraling towers and a mini dragon, and Kyoutani and Yahaba have completely submerged themselves in the sand with help from Kindaichi and Watari. 

 

“Kyoutani?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Kyoutani can’t see Yahaba’s face from his position, but judging by his tone it’s probably really reflective or some shit, like he’s gonna say something deep and blow Kyoutani’s mind and make him have an existential crisis for the next three days. “You know that chinese emperor? The one that, when he died, had a bunch of his soldiers get buried alive with him so they could protect him in the afterlife or something?”

 

“Uh, yeah?”

 

“When I die that’s gonna be you,” Yahaba says almost wistfully. “I need my faithful vice captain to guard me when I’m dead.”

 

“Fuck no.”

 

“I need my libero too,” he says. Watari shakes his head. 

 

“How about we get some water on you before you go making those decisions.”

 

“Good idea,” Kawanishi says. He shoves Shirabu, covered in wet sand, towards them. “Take him too, he needs to chill out.”

 

“Okay,” Yahaba says, and begins to dislodge himself from the sand, spraying bits of it all over Kyoutani’s face. “Let’s go, ace.”

 

“No thanks,” Kyoutani says. Yahaba frowns. 

 

“Why not?” He grabs Kyoutani’s shoulders and tries to lift him up out of the sand. 

 

Kyoutani stubbornly digs his elbows in. “I said no thanks,” he says in a tone that should tell Yahaba  _ don’t push it.  _

 

Shirabu raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you can’t swim?”

 

Kyoutani hates that his silence is enough of an answer. 

 

“Alright, up we go,” Kawanishi says, hooking his arms underneath Kyoutani’s armpits and hauling him up to a standing position. “‘Mission: teach Seijoh’s angry ace to swim’ is a go.”

 

“No- fuck-” Kyoutani digs his heels into the sand and calls upon every ounce of strength he has as well as every blessing Iwaizumi’s godly arms have ever bestowed upon him, but their advantage in numbers wins out and Kyoutani is dragged along, sputtering, to the water. 

 

“I don’t even have a swimsuit or anything on,” he insists.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Kawanishi says. “You’ll be fine in your clothes right now.” Because apparently his practice clothes for volleyball also double as a makeshift swimsuit. 

 

He sees the sun. It’s starting to dip below the horizon, but its light is still strong, sending orange rays casting across the water, and the ocean is quite a beautiful thing when you’re not being shoved in it against your will. 

 

He sees the light, and then he doesn’t. 

 

Kyoutani tries to scream for help, but water fills up his mouth and nose, which makes thrashing around the only option. He hopes the others will see him flailing and come to save him, he hates them,  _ hates them, hopes they die- _

 

“Kyoutani,” a voice says, murky through the water. “Try standing up.”

 

He’s got nothing left to lose at this point, so he does. Heels pushing downwards, he thrusts himself right out of the water. 

 

_ Oh.  _

 

Yahaba tries his best to hide the grin insistent on curling on his face. Shirabu rolls his eyes. “Good job, you nearly drowned in two feet of water.” 

 

“Maybe that was a little too fast,” Watari says, contemplative. 

 

“Just try floating on your back,” Kawanishi says, and pushes him back in, albeit more gently this time. 

 

“Oh,” Kyoutani says. “I guess this isn’t too bad.” 

 

Yahaba gets down next to him, and together, they drift along, the sand just a few feet below their bodies. “Swimming is the best part of coming to the beach.” He feels Yahaba grab onto his hand. “So you don’t drown.”

 

“Swimming is only nice for half-fish like you,” Kyoutani scoffs, but focuses on the feeling of the water washing against his skin and Yahaba’s hand anchoring him. Now he wishes he had learned to swim sooner, but maybe it’s nice to have his friends (and acquaintances? enemies? frenemies?) teach him. Anyways, if he had known earlier, maybe their captains wouldn’t have bonded over ‘helping’ him learn to swim. 

 

“This is very relaxing and all,” Shirabu drawls, “but it’s time to learn how to doggy-paddle now,” and with that he yanks Kyoutani out of his relaxed state. Yahaba grins evilly, and the two captains share a look. 

 

And with that, Kyoutani feels fear again. 

 

“Oh, fuck no.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Watari feels a little antsy standing in front of the movie theater without half of their prospective movie-watching group.  _ What if they ditched? What if they went to the wrong theater? What if they show up and leave because they think we’re losers and oh no oh no oh no- _

 

“Oh, there they are,” Yahaba says, and true to his word, Kawanishi and Shirabu are currently sprinting towards them at full speed, sneakers slapping against the pavement. 

 

“Sorry,” Shirabu pants, hands on his knees. “We- we had to go the library and- and return some books but we- left our- dorm late and-”

 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Watari says, internally relieved. “Catch your breath first.” 

 

Kyoutani holds out a few slips of paper. “We bought tickets already.” 

 

“Thanks,” Kawanishi says, straightening up to take two tickets from Kyoutani’s hand. “What movie are we watching, anyways?”

 

Yahaba sends Kyoutani a sidelong glance. “Godzilla Reborn 2. Kyoutani insisted.”

 

The shock on Shirabu and Kawanishi’s faces is almost as funny as Kyoutani’s raging blush when he mutters, “Iwaizumi-senpai said it was good.”

 

“Kyoutani.” Yahaba grabs his shoulders. “When it comes to Godzilla, Iwaizumi is about as reliable as Oikawa is with aliens in terms of movie quality.” 

 

Shirabu snickers. 

 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Watari says. “Kyoutani with Iwaizumi is like Yahaba with Oikawa.”

 

“I am not!” Kyoutani and Yahaba say in unison. “Yes you are!” they chorus, again. 

 

“Can’t be any worse than Shirabu with Ushijima,” Kawanishi chuckles. 

 

Shirabu looks utterly betrayed. “Taichi, I thought you were my friend.”

 

“Guys, the movie starts in five minutes,” Yahaba says. “We should go get seats.”

 

“Last one in buys popcorn for everyone,” Watari declares, sprinting towards the door. 

 

Shirabu swears. “Wait, no, guys, I’m broke,” he says as the others race past him. 

 

“That’s why you were gonna buy that box set of classics, right?” Kawanishi asks. 

 

“Yes!”

 

* * *

 

 

Shirabu holds his hand up insistently. “Look! My hand still has marks from when Kyoutani saw that dog onscreen!”

 

“Me too,” Watari says. 

 

“Sorry.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ok so i was literally so hyped for this challenge and i was gonna write this super awesome fic and then. real life came and kicked my ass. so this is nowhere near as good as i wanted it to be but that's ok. 
> 
> also a while ago i went with some friends to watch a movie and one of my friends got so excited that she dug her nails into my hand (which she was holding with no less than a death-grip) so yes, Kyoutani is that friend. 
> 
> thanks for reading through all this trash. i might fix it one day.


End file.
